Everybody's Lost Somebody
by barkimafish
Summary: When Peter fails to save a classmate, he blames himself. Unable to come to terms with the loss and the guilt, he succumbs to depression. Peter's family and friends must come together to show him how to appreciate life once again. Rated T for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Standing on top of a 12-story building in Queens is quite the experience. For one, the view is phenomenal. Between the passerby on the sidewalk below and the lights of the city twinkling in the distance, you won't be bored. But if you do get tired and decide to close your eyes for just a minute, the experience truly intensifies. With your eyes closed, the sounds of the neighborhood become distinct, and each murmur grows to a roar in the ears of a sharp listener. To hear better, you might grip the edge of the roof and lean carefully over the ledge. The chill in the air that already gnawed the warmth of the afternoon sun away from the roof will begin to bite at your fingertips, but it will be worth it to hear the sounds softened by distance.

Tonight, Peter found himself in this kind of situation. The sun had set hours ago but, loving nothing more than to watch the neighborhoods, he had remained in his suit, ready to swoop down and save someone in need. Or something. Peter grinned as he remembered the family of bunnies that he had found in a box in an alley, unwanted by a careless family. Petting them was one of the best rewards he had ever gotten from his unofficial night job.

Just as he was wondering if the helpless animals had been adopted yet, the snap of a loaded gun reached his ears. Immediately, Peter's head whipped towards the sound. In seconds, he was off the roof and swinging between the tall buildings. The thought of guns made his stomach flip, and the thought of getting shot made the young vigilante want to puke. But the thought of an innocent person getting hit was enough to make him thrust his arms forward faster, feeling the rush of air with every web-controlled swing.

Now that he was getting closer, the sounds were becoming much clearer. Peter could hear a man barking orders and a girl starting to sob.

"Drop your bags!" Peter heard the man demand. Glass shattered against pavement. Boots shuffling. Rocks grinding underneath each step.

"Please, we'll give you anything! Just let us go," someone pleaded. Peter was now close enough to see a group of teens backed against a wall by a few large men. With his mutant senses, he could smell the alcohol on the men. Peter landed on an upper level of a fire escape to locate the best entryway.

"Ge' that fuckin' girl," spat one man, "to shut the hell up!" To emphasize his command, the drunkard lunged forward and smashed his bottle against the wall next to the crying girl. Shards of glass flew, the teens shrieked, and Peter flung himself downward.

Peter threw up his arms between the bottle smasher and the teens, shouting, "Stop! Please!" Everyone did so simply out of surprise, but only for a moment.

Another man stepped out of the shadows towards Peter. "Well, shit, we weren't expecting you, but since you're here, I guess we'll have to really put on a show!" The clarity in the man's voice gave Peter goosebumps. This man didn't sound drunk. He sounded dangerous. And he, too, wielded a gun.

Being down on the ground, Peter realized how he had misjudged the scene: there were quite a few more grown men than there were teens, and of the teens, there seemed to be just two girls and the boy. The crying girl's gasping breaths were accelerated to near hyperventilation, and all three teens clung to each other. The men weren't all completely drunk, and the ones who didn't hold bottles or knives were holding guns. The two groups did have one thing in common: they were all looking for a reaction from Spider-Man.

"Please," Peter began as steadily as he could. "No one has to get hurt here. Just let these guys get home."

The sober leader snickered. "Yeah, we'll get them home as soon as we're done with these pretty girls here." He then punched his arm up, using his gun as a blunt force. Peter instinctually swerved out of the way, pulling back the nearest girl so that she would successfully dodge it as well. When he looked back from the girl to the leader, he saw that the group of men had closed in more tightly. Escaping peacefully was no longer an option.

Another man spoke up, "Listen, spider-bitch: I'm fuckin' some pussy tonight, and I don' mind a woman who don' move."

Yet another assaulter laughed chaotically, adding, "I don't even care if she's fuckin' cold as long as it's wet!" And the group of practiced rapists roared with laughter, smashing another two bottles onto the pavement. Horrified, Peter shifted and spread his arms in front of the cornered teens. Behind him, the quieter girl bent over and threw up onto the ground.

As the men continued to jeer, Peter was forming his escape plan. Well, not _his_ escape plan: he knew he could take on the drunk crowd. He could knock them out, take note of the names on their licenses, and report them to the police later. But first, he needed the kids behind him to get safely out of the way. The quickest route seemed to be up the fire escape that he had jumped down from. So, without much preparation, Peter thrust his right wrist above them, sticking one end of a fresh string onto the roof, then pulled down hard to release the ladder. At the same time, he used his other wrist to shoot a thicker, longer web on their left side, and with one sweeping motion, Peter used it as a whip to slap all the attackers immediately in front of them.

The shock of the whip gave Peter a few seconds to shout over his shoulder, "Climb up as far as you can and get down!" Turning his attention back to the fight, he tried to rip guns away from as many men as he could. He used the same stick-and-pull method that he had used on the fire escape, dodging fists and throwing a few hits of his own. It was working until one of them men managed to land a solid blow to the side of Peter's head. As the hero fell, the man threw his entire body onto Peter, pinning him to the ground. Before Peter could regain enough air and knock the man off him, shots fired.

There was a hard thud.

Screaming.

Boots scraping gravel.

Sirens.

"You fuckin' killed him, you fuckin' idiot!"

Incoherent yelling.

Suddenly, the man jumped off of Peter and ran down the street. Peter bolted up immediately to see the entire gang rushing out of the alleyway. He looked up the fire escape to see the girls. One continued to wail, a piercing mixture of sobs and screams. The other simply stared down at the foot of the ladder. Peter followed her gaze, and then he, too, felt like wailing.

At the bottom of the ladder, the boy lay still, his eyes wide and his mouth open as if he were still screaming. Everything was red: the wall, the ground, his clothes, his face. Blood pushed out of the side of his head where an exit wound confirmed the bullet's path.

Peter felt his own heart skip a beat and couldn't stop himself from falling to his knees next to the boy. Up close, he immediately recognized him: it was Jacob Mendleson. His throat closed up as he struggled to stay calm. Jacob was on the football team. He was vice president of student council. Jacob was in his AP Literature class. Just a few hours ago, he had backed up Peter on his controversial analysis of Brave New World. When their teacher turned her back, the others had teased "Penis Peter," claiming that, as a virgin, he couldn't have an opinion on sex. Jacob stood up for him. Athletic, funny, smart, and genuinely a kind kid, everyone said that Mendleson would surely go on to Yale for law. Now, he wouldn't even graduate high school. And it was all Peter's fault.

Just then, cars screeched to a stop, and the police were charging into the alleyway. Peter, scared of being identified, sprang up from his knees and flung himself up the ladder. Using a fresh web shot, he pulled himself up and onto the roof, running as fast as his shaking legs could propel him. He forced his tears not to fall, pushed down the bile that rose in his mouth, willed himself not to stop.

By the time he was by his own apartment, the shock had turned to numbness.

"Karen, clean." His suit rippled. Liquid followed the ripples, reacting with the blood and causing it to evaporate before it reached the ground. _No need for dry clean_ , Mr. Stark had said.

He crept in through his window. Stashed his suit in his closet. Laid down in his bed. Stared blankly at his ceiling until sleep took over.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Peter stirred around nine in the morning when he heard Aunt May setting up the coffee maker, but he couldn't drag himself out of bed for another hour. For a few minutes, he had forgotten the previous night's encounter. That is, until he heard the Sunday morning news.

"‒ _tragedy of Jacob Mendleson, senior at Midtown School of Science and Technology. He was found with two others‒"_

The channel was flipped to a cooking show as soon as Aunt May noticed Peter. She wasn't sure if her nephew had been friends with the kid. To be sure that Peter would be okay, she wanted to tell him herself. "Hey, Peter, want me to pour you a cup?" she asked, raising her own mug.

Peter responded with a question of his own, "What did they say on the news? About Jacob."

"Oh, Peter." May's face fell. "Last night he and two of his friends were walking home when they got caught up in some gang activity. They said he died protecting the other two. He was a hero."

No mention of Spider-Man. No one would know how much of a failure he was. Or maybe this news report was just as accurate as the truth: what was the point of adding the bits about Spider-Man if he hadn't made a difference? It seemed that leaving him in the story was just as event-altering as leaving him out. He felt his body sag forward and a sigh escaped.

Aunt May stood up from the couch to wrap her arms around Peter. When he didn't respond, she asked softly, "Were you close?"

Peter didn't want Aunt May to worry about him. That wouldn't be fair. "No, I‒" He paused to focus his thoughts. "I never even met the guy," he lied. He pulled himself away from his aunt and turned to the kitchen for water. His throat had gone dry.

"Okay, well, it's okay if you're feeling a little scared anyway," she said. She knew Peter acted a little tougher around her ever since Ben passed. "I'm always here if you need to talk."

"Yeah, thanks," he responded plainly. Before Aunt May could say anything else, he took the water and returned to his room, locking the door behind him.

Peter sat on the edge of his bed to check his phone for the first time since he left last night to begin patrolling. A text from a kid in his calc class, asking about the homework; an email from MJ to the decathalon team, reminding them about their practice schedule; and a few Snapchats from Ned, depicting his most recent Lego set-up. Just as he moved to put his phone down, it buzzed. A new text from Ned:

:: _Did you see what happened to Jacob Mendleson?_ ::

Peter sighed again. He threw the phone down and fell back onto his bed. That was the thing: he _didn't_ see what happened to Jacob. He was too busy being a wimp on the ground to see that Jacob didn't get all the way up the ladder. He was so busy selfishly protecting his own useless head that he didn't see that one of the guys still had a gun. He wasn't even fast enough to jump in front of Jacob and save him from the bullet that he _didn't see_ coming. Spider-Man was worthless. He failed, and it costed a life. Now Peter Parker would live with the shame.

He felt a sob rising up in his chest. Curling up in the covers on his bed, he squeezed his eyes shut and pushed it down. He laid in bed for the rest of the day. When Aunt May gently knocked on his door, he told her that he has trying to focus on his homework so he needed to be alone. When dinner came around, he said truthfully that he wasn't feeling well enough for a meal. When he heard Aunt May turn out the lights and return to her room for the night, he got up to use the bathroom, then returned to his bed. In all this time, his mind refused to shut down for sleep. Rather, it replayed the view of Jacob's bloody corpse over and over, replayed all different versions of the previous night in which Jacob lived and Spider-Man took a bullet to the head instead.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The thought of school didn't sit well in Peter's stomach. Regardless, he slowly climbed out of bed at the sound of his alarm and forced himself to shower. The warm water falling down his back actually felt nice, and he felt good enough to eat a granola bar before heading out the door.

The early-morning chill from the mid-October weather sliced through his sweater, but he welcomed it. Sometimes he grabbed his suit and ran across building tops to get to school. He didn't need to worry about a jacket with the built-in temperature regulators. However, today his suit remained at the bottom of his closet where he had shoved it on Saturday night. This morning, he squeezed into the subway with the rest of New York City's working class.

As soon as he walked into Midtown, the silence in the air made Peter feel colder than he did during his commute. The hallways were filled with hugging students, some even crying. Down one hallway in particular, Peter could make out the impromptu memorial at Jacob Mendleson's locker. It was covered by handwritten notes and a few flowers, sending a fresh wave of guilt to the teen vigilante. With the way each student moved more slowly and talked more quietly, it seemed like Jacob personally touched the life of every student. Peter made a mental note to avoid that hallway.

He shuffled to his locker with his head down like everyone else. He aimlessly moved his books around, not wanting to go to homeroom. Luckily, it wasn't long before Ned was there to pull him away.

"Hey, man, are you okay? You haven't talked to me, like, all weekend," Ned pointed out. It wasn't like Peter to ignore his messages, especially when he had just finished a big Lego model.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just had a lot of homework stuff to work on," Peter answered dismissively. He didn't want Ned to know that he was responsible for Jacob's death. He wasn't sure how Ned would react, and he couldn't stand the idea of losing his best friend.

Ned could tell it was a lie, but he let it slide. He assumed it was the whole situation with Mendleson, but he didn't want to force Peter to talk about it. The connection between Peter and Jacob wasn't very clear to Ned, so he wasn't sure how to help if his friend didn't want to talk about it. For now, the best he could do was to offer a distraction for his overworked superhero friend. "Alright. Well, you wanna come to my house after school and see the set I built?"

Peter wasn't sure that he'd have the energy to hang out with Ned; he barely had energy to get through his classes. So, to avoid responding to the invite, Peter simply asked his friend how many pieces it was and how long it took. Excited to talk about his hard work, Ned upheld the conversation until the morning announcement began in homeroom.

If Peter thought it was hard to breathe through the tension in the hallways earlier, he found it nearly impossible when his homeroom teacher personally addressed the classroom. She solemnly began, "I'm sure by now we've all heard about what happened to your fellow classmate this past weekend. I wanted to take this minute to remind everyone about the counseling office which accepts walk-ins. Please reach out to somebody if you are having difficulties processing what has happened."

Peter squeezed the textbook in his hands until his knuckles turned white. _Please reach out to somebody if you are having difficulties processing what has happened._ He couldn't believe how robotic she sounded, as if students died every other week. And the idea of talking to somebody? As if a school counselor would understand him. He was a mutant, and everyone knows that the world was getting more critical of mutant abilities. He tried to use his powers for good and be that friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, but as was discovered this past weekend, he couldn't even do _that_ right.

Ned watched Peter who was hunched over with his eyes closed and practically strangling his chemistry textbook. Ned ventured to ask, "Hey, Peter‒"

"I said I'm fine, Ned!" Peter snapped. He grabbed his backpack and stormed out of the room before his homeroom teacher could stop him. It didn't matter if he was early to his first period. The sooner the day started, the sooner it would be over.

* * *

Peter's classes proved to be normal. Silence still laid heavily between students, but it was much more bearable when he could convince himself that everyone was simply listening intently to the lecture. At lunch he sat with his usual friends, but he didn't bother to eat or say much. Jacob wasn't even mentioned, and Peter thought that maybe Ned had something to do with that. Great. Peter couldn't handle the actual situation on Saturday, and now his best friend thought he couldn't even handle a conversation about it. In fact, Ned didn't try to talk to him much about anything since Peter turned on him in homeroom. That was fine with Peter. Now he didn't have to come up with an excuse not to visit Ned's house after school.

Things were manageable, until he showed up to English. He took his seat and immediately saw the empty desk in the front row.

At the front of the room, Mr. Walter called for everyone's attention the way he always did on Mondays. He said, "I hope everyone had an‒" and stopped.

Peter could recite Mr. Walter's Monday morning greeting by heart: _I hope everyone had an enjoyable weekend. Happy to see you could all make it to class today. Today we will be discussing blah blah blah. Please turn to page blah blah blah in your textbooks. Have your supplemental reading book ready for citations._

Mr. Walter had stopped short because he knew that they probably didn't have a particularly enjoyable weekend. He knew that not everyone was able to make it to class that day. One of his students would never make it to class again.

In the moment of silence, a feeling of despair washed over the room. Someone ‒they looked like someone on student council‒ let out a small cry before bursting into sobs like the final swing of an ax needed to bring a whole tree crashing down. But the tree didn't fall with no one to hear it; there was an entire room of trees, rotting away on the inside, threatening to fall. To avoid this chaos, Mr. Walter promptly had the wailing student escorted to the counseling department and then tried to distract the rest of the class.

The news of Jacob's death had struck Walter, too. To stand at the front of the classroom, trying to command a classroom while staring down at the empty desk in front of him, required all the energy that he had. Mr. Walter was tempted to invite students to talk to him if they felt the need, but he was afraid to address the situation directly in case someone else needed to be escorted to counseling. He thought it would be best to simply slow down the working pace of the classroom for a few days. In the meantime, he would try and keep an eye out for students who might need some extra support in the coming weeks or months.

" _Brave New World_ was made into a film. Twice, in fact. I happen to have a version here," Mr. Walter trailed off as he began to project the movie. But Peter was too focused on steadying his breath to pay attention. He felt close to a complete sensory overload. For the rest of the class, he put his head down on his folded arms. It was impossible to fall asleep with the recurring memories of Jacob's lifeless body and pain-filled eyes.

The bell rang. An hour later, Peter was one the subway back to his apartment, still unable to shake the despair that had burrowed into his head during English. The thought of his room gave him a little bit of peace: he could be alone. No dead bodies. No crying students. No whispers or rumors about what 'really' happened. And tonight, no Spider-Man.


End file.
